Surprise
by SunnySidesofBlue
Summary: Prowl decides to stop hiding his relationship with Jazz and does so with a vengeance. Jazz is delighted. Smokescreen is amused. The rest of the Autobots get the shock of their lives.
1. Chapter 1

"I just don't understand why he never gives up."

"I for one can't even understand why he's interested in the first place."

Sideswipe and Tracks were sitting in a corner in the rec room, drinking highgrade and watching the TIC of the Autobot army using every trick in the book in his never-ending endeavor to catch the attention of a certain black and white tactician. As usual, he was failing.

"I mean," Tracks continued, glancing over the edge of his cube at the two officers, "what is there even to like there at all?"

Sideswipe followed his friend's gaze.

"Well," he began hesitantly, "he _is_ a Praxian. And pretty easy on the optics."

"Oh puh-leeesae!" Tracks retorted with a snort. "Mech's stiff, formal, has no sense of humor and the sex appeal of a brick. And a boring paint job."

The red Lamborghini mumbled a noncommittal reply to that. He really didn't want the red-faced mech to begin ranting about paint jobs. Primus knew he got enough of that slag from his twin. Instead he returned his gaze to the blatantly flirting Jazz. He wondered if Prowl could possibly be as blind to Jazz's advances as he seemed to be. Sure, it was well known that the mech rarely socialized with anyone at all and some had even suggested that he didn't have any kind of emotional coding at all, but Jazz was getting so obvious it was almost embarrassing to watch.

He was pulled from his musings by Smokescreen joining them at the table.

"Evening, mechs," the diversionary tactician said amicably. "Anything interesting going on?"

"Not really," Sideswipe answered, taking a sip of his highgrade. "We were just discussing Jazz's obsession with Prowl.

"Ah, our own personal soap opera," Smokescreen replied with a grin. "Well, you have to give the mech credit for his determination, if nothing else. How long has he been at it by now? 60 vorns?"

"Closer to 80, I'd say," Tracks snorted. "And Prowl _still_ hasn't noticed. Fraggit, the mech has done just about everything except outright jumping him."

"What do you think, Smokey?" the red twin cut in. "You're the shrink, after all. Plus, you Praxians are supposed to be able to read each other better than anyone else, doorwings and all, right? Is it possible that our tactical genius actually doesn't realise what Jazz is doing? Or is he merely failing miserably at making Jazz understand that he isn't interested?"

"I don't know," Smokescreen confessed. "Prowl is extremely difficult to read, even for me."

"Well, it seems as if he at least got something through," Sideswipe commented as they saw Jazz leaving Prowl's table. He was smiling and swaggering as usual, but there was something slightly forced about his entire demeanor.

"I'll bet Prowl just admonished him for inappropriate public behavior or something," Tracks said. "Seriously, the mech could bare his spark before him and he still wouldn't get it."

"Now you're being unfair. Just because he doesn't enjoy blatant public displays of affection it doesn't mean he's sparkless, or stupid."

Tracks merely shrugged his shoulders, looking thoroughly unconvinced.

Smokescreen was just about to say something more when his doorwings registered a signal he didn't immediately recognize. He tried to decipher it, but soon realized it wasn't merely a signal, but a sound – a very, very low sound, which was why he'd felt it before he could actually hear it. The sound got stronger and then began to pulse, and by now other mechs had picked up on it as well. Conversations slowly died as everyone was trying to figure out where this strange resonance came from.

Smokescreen was the first to find the source and he almost fell off his seat in shock when he realized what it was. Incredulously he turned to look at the corner where Prowl was sitting.

Only he wasn't anymore. The black and white Praxian had stood up and something was suddenly very much different about him, even though Smokescreen for the life of him couldn't have said wherein the changes lay. His bearing was always proud, but now he looked majestic, his doorwings fanned out on full display. His face was a mask of perfect serenity, but his optics were glowing with an intensity that made them almost white.

He was looking at Jazz.

Then he started moving, and Smokescreen was suddenly glad he was sitting down, or he would have crashed in a heap on the floor when his knees gave.

Again, it was difficult to pinpoint exactly what the mech did. Calling it 'walking' seemed like an insult to the smooth, flowing movements, but it was most definitely not a dance either. Just… grace. A fluidity of movement, every part of the frame shifting in perfect harmony. The sinuously sweeping doorwings looked like living art, and those hips… oh Primus, those hips!

Smokescreen had to actually reset his optics to be able to tear his gaze away. He shot a quick glance around the room and realized every mech was staring at the SIC with a mix of worry, shock and DO WANT! That is, everyone but Jazz, who merely looked delirious.

And that was when Prowl's EM field expanded and washed over them, so intense that it filled the air with sizzling static, and the temperature in the room suddenly seemed to have risen remarkably. Smokescreen heard several sets of cooling fans engage, and it took a moment for him to realise that his own were among them.

He hadn't seen a display like this in vorns, not since the fall of Praxus. But that Prowl of all mechs..

Shaking his helm as if to break the haze of desire Smokescreen belatedly pulled forth a set of long-disused sub-routines and activated them. Immediately he felt his processor clear and his frame began to settle again, no longer affected by the arousing signals emitted by the other Praxian. Spell broken he could now return to watching the scene with a different kind of interest and not a small amount of amusement.

Prowl had by now reached the table where Jazz sat. Reaching out with one hand he touched the crown of the saboteur's helm with his middle finger, then slowly traced a line down Jazz's forehelm, visor and olfactory sensor. Reaching the mouth he followed the lines of the smiling lips from corner to corner, then continued down and in under the chin. Gently tilting the saboteur's helm backwards Prowl then bent down and kissed him fully on the lips.

Smokescreen heard more than one engine stutter at that point and grinned as he looked around and saw the thoroughly thunderstruck look on everybody's faces. Unable to resist the temptation he took a couple of photo captures, knowing he'd have a great deal of fun teasing his friends about this later.

After what seemed like an eternity the two officers' kiss broke and for a moment they just stayed there, forehelms touching and looking into each other's optics. Then Prowl stepped back and held out both hands, palms up, waiting for Jazz to take them. The slightly smaller mech did so without hesitation and allowed himself to be pulled to his pedes by the tactician. Once stood he remained still as Prowl slowly completed a full circle around him, once again tracing the most distinctive profile lines with a single digit and moving with that so-sensual-it-must-surely-be-illegal grace.

Once the circle was complete he stopped in front of Jazz, placed his hand over the saboteur's spark and bowed his helm. Again they just stood there for a moment, then Jazz's hand rose and raised the Praxian's helm by the chin, just like Prowl had done with him before. The normally stern tactician's face radiated emotion, joy on a level none of the bots present had ever seen before, and Jazz looked equally elated.

The suddenly Prowl bent down, lifted Jazz bridal style and carried him briskly out of the rec room.

A full 30 seconds passed in silence in the wake of the two officers' exit. Then:

"What the FRAG was that!?"

Sideswipe's exclamation seemed to release the spell and everyone started talking at once.

"Did you just see what I saw?"

"I don't believe it! Prowl!?"

"How the Pit did he manage to move like that?"

"Prowl doesn't _do_ emotions for frag's sake, least of all in public. He must have been overcharged or something."

Smokescreen just laughed.

"Would you mind explaining what the frag just happened?" a somewhat shaken Sideswipe asked, this time directing his question at Smokescreen.

The diversionary tactician leaned forward with a playful grin, pretending not to notice how half the rec room was suddenly listening to him.

"That, my dear Sideswipe, was a formal, Praxian bonding proposal."

Again the room lapsed into a few seconds of stunned silence before exploding again.

"What!?"

"Did he say bonding?"

"He can't be serious!"

"It must be a virus. Or a prank. It _can't_ be real!"

"Prowl? PROWL!?"

Smokescreen just kept grinning and turned his gaze to Tracks, who still sat staring, literally open-mouthed, at the door where the two black-and-whites had left. The corvette's fans were still working hard and his wings were quivering with arousal.

"Well, what do you say, Tracks?" the brightly coloured Praxian said, nudging the other mech with his elbow. "Not bad for a mech with the sex appeal of a brick, eh?"

The red-faced mech finally snapped out of it, closed his mouth and looked around with an air of utter embarrassment. Grabbing his cube of highgrade he downed it all in one go, then rose on slightly unsteady legs and, after a mumbled excuse, fled the scene.

He wasn't the only one. Quite a few bots had already left and some of the ones still there looked as if they were just trying to calm down enough to be able to move without embarrassing themselves too badly. Smokescreen couldn't quite hold back a chuckle at the thought of Prowl, of all mechs, being the cause of half the crew rushing off for cold showers or some private time in the first available secluded area, with or without company.

And speaking of company…

Smokescreen turned back to Sideswipe, who was looking at him with a hungry expression. He did not need to ask what the red Lamborghini was thinking, and he certainly didn't mind.

"So, your place or mine?"


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: This story wasn't originally intended to have a second chapter but after some of the reviews I got I just couldn't resist. I hope it hits the mark. =D

* * *

"Don't you think this joke is wearing a bit thin, Sideswipe?"

The red Lamborghini, instinctively donning his most innocent face, looked up from his energon to see Tracks standing there with his arms crossed, looking tremendously irritated.

"It wasn't even that funny to begin with," the Corvette went on, "and this is the fifth time. Don't you have better things to do?"

Sideswipe quickly went over his mental list of ongoing prank projects but drew a blank as to how any of them could possibly be affecting Tracks.

"Um, not entirely sure what you're referring to," he said with, for once, completely genuine incomprehension.

"These!" Tracks huffed, pulling something from subspace and dropping it on the table in front of the red twin.

Sideswipe stared at the object for all of three seconds before he began to chuckle.

"It's not funny!" the red-faced mech snarled.

"Yes, it is," Sideswipe countered, not bothering to hide his amusement, which seemed to irritate the other mech even further. "Where'd you find it?"

"In my quarters when I got off shift, as well you know! I demand you stop these childish antics immediately!"

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, Tracks, but it wasn't me. I've been on long range patrol with Windcharger all day."

"You could have bribed someone into helping you!"

Sideswipe sighed and rolled his optics.

"Yeah, I suppose I could, but as a matter of fact I didn't. I'll confess I did consider something like this, but Smokescreen talked me out of it. Said it would be much more fun to wait a bit, letting you think we'd forgotten. Looks like he stole my idea, though, the fragger."

Tracks carefully studied the face of the notorious prankster, obviously trying to decide whether to trust him or not. Then finally he gave a small nod.

"Smokescreen, then?"

"Looks like it."

Without further comments Tracks spun around and marched out of the rec room.

"Hey, Tracks!" Sideswipe called after him, unable to stop himself. "You forgot your gift."

Left behind on the table, wrapped in black and white satin ribbons forming an elegant bow, was a brick.

* * *

"Smokescreen!"

The colourful Praxian stopped just outside his office and turned towards the caller.

"Tracks," he said, giving the mech a nod in greeting, "what can I do for you?"

"You can stop breaking into my quarters and leave bricks all over the place!"

Vorns of training and gambling experience allowed the diversionary tactician to keep a perfectly straight face even though he was grinning inside at the sight of the exasperated Corvette.

"I'm not in the habit of entering other mechs' quarters uninvited," he said mildly. "That would be Sideswipe's department."

"It wasn't him this time," Tracks replied, "I already checked it and his alibi holds, unless both Windcharger and Red Alert are in on it, which I doubt. He said he did mention his plans to you, though."

The unspoken accusation was very obvious and Smokescreen decided to be straightforward.

"He did, and I advised against it."

"You advised him to wait and strike later for better impact!"

Smokescreen sighed.

"Seriously, have you ever tried to talk Sideswipe out of doing something? It doesn't work, it just makes him all the more eager to do it. By phrasing it the way I did and postponing the whole thing I was hoping he might have lost interest by the time it was 'time to strike."

Tracks eyed the brightly coloured Praxian with suspicion, knowing the mech had an even better poker face than Sideswipe. On the other hand, Smokescreen was not usually mixed up in the minor prank wars that regularly raged their base, he just observed and took bets on who would win.

"So, not Sideswipe and not you," he finally said. "Who, then?"

"Could be just about anyone. Most will have heard about your little… blunder by now. My bet would be – indeed, is – on Jazz, though."

"Jazz?"

"Well, you did call his lover unattractive and boring, remember?"

Tracks at least had the grace to look a bit embarrassed.

* * *

Two shifts later the Corvette sat in an out-of-the-way corner of the rec room, furtively observing the third in command of the Autobot forces, who was currently immersed in a discussion with Blaster at a table across the room. Even though he had been mulling over the problem ever since his talk with Smokescreen, Tracks had still to figure out a way of confronting the mech about the… issue with the bricks.

It would have been so much easier if he'd actually _known _it was Jazz who was the culprit, but as things stood he didn't have a single shred of evidence or even a hint pointing in the Porsche's direction, apart from Smokescreen's suspicions and, well, a good motive. If Jazz wasn't behind the prank Tracks would make an utter fool of himself (again) by confronting him and that was something the red-faced mech wanted to avoid at any cost. Accusing Sideswipe or Smokescreen was one thing, but Jazz… Not only was he an officer, but it was his partner Tracks had offended with that infernal remark that now had come back to bite him in the aft.

And, to be honest, what difference would it make in the end if Jazz was indeed behind the prank or not, he asked himself? By acknowledging that it annoyed him Tracks would also indirectly have to officially admit that his remark about Prowl had been both stupid and out of line. Maybe that was what the mech was waiting for, a reason to order Tracks to apologize for the insult as publically as it had been uttered?

And wouldn't that be all colours of awkward?

Maybe it would be better to just drop the whole thing? Not do anything to draw further attention to himself. If the bricks kept appearing… well, he'd just have to keep throwing them away, it wasn't that big an issue. Not really. Much. The prankster would eventually grow tired of his game and then it would stop anyway, without an embarrassing circus.

Yeah, that was a much better course of action, Tracks told himself as he saw Jazz get up and leave the room. No confrontation, no further dents in his pride. Win-win.

Still, he couldn't help but wondering…

* * *

Jazz carefully hid his smile until he was clear of the rec room. The way Tracks had been staring at him for the past couple of breems had been difficult to miss for someone as observant as the head of Special Operations and he had a fairly good idea of what had been going on in the Corvette's mind. The fact that the mech had neither called him over nor followed him as he left was also quite telling, of course. For half a moment the Porsche had been tempted to walk over to the other mech and strike up a conversation just for the frag of it but in the end he decided against it. After all, he had a bondmate (bondmate!) to go and drag out of his office.

Walking briskly through the corridors his smile got wider the closer he got to his destination. He was looking forward to the upcoming conversation. As he reached the door of his bondmate's office he entered without announcing his arrival as per usual but once inside he stood attention and waited to be acknowledged, just like someone of significantly lower rank would have been expected to do.

Prowl looked up from his data pad with an expression of equal parts amusement and suspicion at the uncharacteristic and completely uncalled for formality. He could clearly feel over the bond that his mate was up to something but as yet there was no hint as to what kind of something it might be.

"Yes?" he said, a trace of wariness in his voice.

"Sir, Ah would like to report a case of misconduct of a fellow Autobot against another."

Normally that would have been a serious issue but considering his bondmate's behaviour and obvious good mood – not to mention the fact that Jazz, as an officer, hardly had a reason to report such things to him like this – Prowl was convinced this was about something altogether different.

"I see," he said, still wary. "What is the nature of the offence?"

"Repeated cases of unauthorised entry in a mech's personal quarters in his absence, in purpose of leaving certain items intended to cause said mech emotional discomfort."

"I see," Prowl said again, even more warily. "And the offended party would be?"

"Autobot Tracks, sir."

"And the offender?"

"Unknown at this time, sir," Jazz went on, face perfectly straight.

"But you have suspicions, I presume," Prowl pressed.

"Yes, sir."

"Any hard evidence?"

"No, sir"

"Any circumstantial evidence?"

"Some, sir, but not enough to press charges."

"I see," Prowl said yet again, his face just as perfectly straight as Jazz's. "Suggested cause of action?"

"Ah intend to keep the suspect under close surveillance until Ah have proof of his guilt."

"And if the suspect, let us suppose, has been made aware of your suspicions and decides not to pursue the issue further?"

"Then Ah would consider lettin' him off the hook, this once. If, as ya suggest, he is made aware of mah suspicions Ah think that would be enough to deter him from relapsin' into such unbecomin' behaviour again."

Prowl couldn't help it. The corner of his mouth twitched.

"Very well," he said, finally putting down the data pad he'd been holding and instead folded his hands on the desk in front of him. "And the injured party?"

"Ah'd say he would prefer to let the matter rest, assumin' there's no further harassment."

"You are convinced of this fact? You don't think one of us should talk to him?"

"Ah wouldn't recommend it," Jazz said, finally letting his face split in a slag-eating grin. "Ya never know, he might decide to make a fuss about it an' Ah'm not sure the rest of the crew can handle any more out-of-character behaviour from ya at the moment, love."

"Me?" Prowl said mildly, looking supremely innocent. "I assure you, I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Of course not," Jazz countered as he finally dropped all semblance of formality, went over to his bondmate and unceremoniously made himself comfortable on his lap. "Mah mistake."

And then he kissed him.


End file.
